Say, little, foolish, fluttering thing? She began shrieking and adjusting her hair at a mirror, when lo! she beheld the reflection of a ghastly visage peeping over her shoulder! Much disconcerted, the trembling girl approached the bed. An impertinent apparition, with a peculiar nose, stood there, and made faces at her. She felt offended at the freedom, to say nothing of her being half dead with fright. 'Is it not enough,' thought she, 'to be harassed by beings of this world, but those of the next too must think proper to interfere? I am sure,' said she, as she raised her voice in a taunting manner, '_En verité_, I have no desire to meddle with _their_ affairs. _Sur ma vie_, I have no taste for brim-stone. So let me just advise a _certain_ inhabitant of a _certain_ world (not the _best_, I believe,) to think less of _my_ concerns, and more of _his own_.' Having thus asserted her dignity, without being too personal, she walked to the casement in tears, and sang these simple lines, which she graced with intermittent sobs. SONG Alas, well-a-day, woe to me, Singing willow, willow, willow; My lover is far, far at sea. On a billow, billow, billow. Ah, Theodore, would thou could'st be, On my pillow, pillow, pillow! Here she heaved a deep sigh, when, to her utter astonishment, a voice, as if from a chamber underneath; took up the tune with these words: SONG Alas, well-a-day, woe to me, Singing sorrow, sorrow, sorrow; A ducat would soon make me free, Could I borrow, borrow, borrow; And then I would pillow with thee, To-morrow, morrow, morrow! Was it?--It was!--Yes, it _was_ the voice of her love, her life, her long-lost Theodore De Willoughby!!! How should she reach him? Forty times she ran round and round her chamber, with agitated eyes and distracted tresses. Here we must pause a moment, and express our surprise at the negligence of the sylphs and sylphids, in permitting the ringlets of heroines to be so frequently dishevelled. O ye fat-cheeked little cherubims, who flap your innocent wings, and fly through oceans of air in a minute, without having a hair of your heads discomposed,--no wonder that such stiff ringlets should be made of gold! At length Hysterica found a sliding pannel. She likewise found a moth-eaten parchment, which she sat down to peruse. But, gentle reader, imagine her emotions, on decyphering these wonderful words. MANUSCRIPT